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From one frog to humans, or 'Go dig a Pond'


Burnt summer,
Another hot summer
Without a drop of water
I wait
It’s only June.

With ochre hives
And forgotten tones
Of emerald green
Parched fields
and thorny hegderows.

A dead speckled wood
I’d rather eat fresh
Is on the menu
today,
tomorrow unknown.

A bleak summer ahead,
Our long forgotten cousins
Creep steathily unseen
Waiting silently
for clouds.

A buttercup-yellow
Marsh marigold forest
Croaked from
Floating reeds and
choked crispy chickweed.

Andrew Toms
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